


Elementary Problems

by alicekittridge



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, POV Third Person, Present Tense, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19262719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicekittridge/pseuds/alicekittridge
Summary: Any minute now, he thinks, those doormen are going to hold open the doors and out will come Villanelle, freshly dressed and showered and late.





	Elementary Problems

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a little happy place fic about banter between Konstantin and Villanelle but then morphed into something more than that. This takes place in a season 2 vacuum where Konstantin and V have their "partnership" but nothing is yet known about Aaron Peel. It's basically a fic that is my explanation as to how he and Carolyn got Eve and V working together, with a side of Eve and Villanelle seeing each other off the books.
> 
> That was a long explanation. Let's get into it. 
> 
> Rated M because of the second chapter that will be posted soon.

**LONDON**

**_The day of_ **

The radio plays a pop song at a soft volume and Konstantin attempts to hum along to it, all the while rotating his gaze from the front entrance of the Corinthia Hotel and the other sights on the street. Doormen stand prim and posh in their uniforms at the glass doors, and a few feet above them is the English flag, the colors bright against the sandy white of the building.

            Any minute now, he thinks, those doormen are going to hold open the doors and out will come Villanelle, freshly dressed and showered and late. That part of her hasn’t much changed. The only part that has is the effort she puts into her presentation.

            _“Mother, make me, make me a big grey cloud so I can rain on you things I can’t say out loud…”_

Looking up at the building, he can see why Villanelle chose this hotel. Not only because of its extravagant price—$6,881 American dollars per night—but because of its equally as extravagant interior and views offered from its large balconies. It’s a place that many tourists pass by wishing they could afford it while knowing few can. Villanelle would be both noticeable and discreet, perfectly private. The kinds of people that work here would say nothing if she brought back large bags of shopping or someone to spend the night with.

            And sometimes, he admits to himself, turning the song up a bit more, he does wonder who Villanelle spends her nights with, has been tempted to ask the times he’s come in to check on her and found her affairs just leaving, but he knows it’s really none of his business.

            “You’re like a father,” Villanelle had told him once. “Always concerned, barging in at nearly the wrong moment.”

            He wonders about Eve Polastri.

            Movement catches his eye, and it’s the doormen. They hold the doors and, as he knew, there’s Villanelle. She’s dressed for the cloudy weather, wearing expensive black designer jeans, Doc Martens, and a white collared shirt with a striped suit jacket over it. Her favorite navy blue parka is slung over her arm. Her hair is up in a semi-professional bun.

            He turns the radio off just as her hand clutches the door handle.

            “Still driving Volvos?” Villanelle questions with obvious displeasure, closing the door loudly behind her once she’s in the passenger seat.

            “It’s the newest model.”

            “It’s a better color than Raymond’s.”

            “And how is Raymond?”

            “Probably plotting my death.”

            “He was doing what he was supposed to,” Konstantin says.

            “Was nearly choking me to death part of the contract?” Villanelle asks. When Konstantin doesn’t comment and pulls the car into the street, she says, “Where are we going?”

            “King’s Cross.”

            “And then?”

            “Paris.” Villanelle’s expression lightens and he interrupts, “And no, we are not going back to your old apartment.”

            Villanelle faux-sulks. “You’re no fun.”

            “You can’t afford to be nostalgic.”

            “I was nostalgic just this morning.”

            “Oh?”

            “It happens after you’ve had really great sex.”

            He laughs, but knows she’s right. “You’re not going to tell me any more.”

            “Of course not,” she says. “It stays between her and me.”

            The light, slightly dreamy tone in her voice raises his suspicions, but he doesn’t want to ask about Eve just yet. The first order of business is simply getting to the train station and getting to Paris.

 

            Villanelle comes back from the dining car with a bottle of mineral water and a basket of fish and chips. The fried food smells good, but it’s hardly Villanelle’s usual fare.

            “You know what that’ll do to your arteries?” Konstantin says.

            Villanelle pops a fry into her mouth. “I’ll work it off.”

            “Are you stress eating?”

            “I have nothing to stress about. This partnership is easygoing.” She points a finger at him. “You’d better have something good for me. Nothing like Amsterdam.”

            “That wasn’t interesting?” he questions.

            “I told you, it felt like nothing.” She tears a large bite off a fried fish. “I miss the old days.”

            “You can’t go back to them. And Eve Polastri isn’t in those days like she is now.”

            Villanelle’s face hardens slightly.

            “What?” says Konstantin. “You think I don’t know how much you like her? You take jobs in London without much second thought because you know it means a chance to see her.”

            Villanelle sits back in her seat, gulps down mineral water. “All we did was dinner,” she says around the bottle’s lip. “A little chat with no show after.”

            “What did she have to say?”

            “Nothing we don’t know already, except…”

            He raises his brows. “Except?”

            She smiles, coy and cryptic. “I’ll let you riddle it out. Can I go back to my brunch?”

 

**PARIS**

He’s set Villanelle up at the Four Seasons Hotel and tells her, as she’s hauling her luggage onto the large bed, that she can stay for as long or short as she likes, but that there’s also a job to do.

            “You’ll learn more this evening,” he promises, and makes to shut the door.

            “Aren’t you going to tell me where you’re going?” Villanelle says, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “Secrets aren’t very nice.”

            “Just to a bar. I have a meeting.”

            The meeting is with a man close to Konstantin’s own age but higher up on the stepladder. Strangely, his situation is rather similar to theirs, in the sense that he also disappeared off the radar after the Twelve’s shackles became too much. His name is Pierre Cornet, a native of Bordeaux. Konstantin had met him once, just after he’d gotten Villanelle out of prison and Russia, and found him to be both knowledgeable and trustworthy. He speaks Russian and German and has a psychologist background—the main reason the Twelve hired him—but a good handle on the structure of business. He’s waiting in the lobby when Konstantin steps out of the elevator.

            _“Bonjour,”_ Pierre says, smiling.

            _“Bonjour.”_

They shake hands.

            “Shall we have a drink?”

            “As long as we talk business, I’ll sit with you,” Konstantin says. Together he and Pierre walk to the Four Seasons’ bar. Inside, its furniture is chic and the lighting is bright but intimate, and 19th century artwork hangs on the walls. They find a table for two. Much to Konstantin’s surprise, Pierre orders a glass of vintage red wine.

            “I never took you for a wine drinker,” Konstantin tells him.

            “When in Paris, wine is a must.”

            Konstantin orders a single malt whiskey.

            The talk is small until their drinks arrive. Business is usually talked about better when one has a drink.

            “So,” Pierre begins, “Villanelle. She’s come quite a long way.”

            “Ah, you noticed.”

            “I glimpsed you on the way in. How is she?”

            It would, Konstantin thinks, do well to be honest to Pierre about the more recent matters. He hasn’t seen Villanelle since 2015. Konstantin starts from the beginning, explaining his efforts, the transformation from Oksana to the Twelve’s highly regarded Villanelle. He tells Pierre about the high-profile kills with Villanelle’s flair and how they’d caught the attention of an MI6 officer named Eve Polastri. Pierre listens patiently, his eyebrows twitching at Eve’s name.

            “She stabbed Villanelle,” Konstantin says, “the last time she was in Paris.”

            “I didn’t think such a plain woman could have it in her.”

            “Villanelle would disagree with you.”

            “About Eve Polastri being plain or having it in her to stab another person?”

            “Both.”

            “She likes Eve,” Pierre says thoughtfully, and Konstantin nods.

            “Eve is… her type.”

            “Does she have it out for the husband?”

            Konstantin shakes his head. “I don’t think so. This feels different.”

            “In what way?”

            “Villanelle thinks she and Eve are similar. They’re both fiery, and any chance of giving direction to their work ends up being disobeyed and yet somehow within the parameters of acceptable.”

            “I see,” says Pierre, scratching his beard. “Is she compromised?”

            “You people,” Konstantin says, laughing, “always asking the complicated questions before a man has even drunk half his drink.”

            “We have to ask the complicated things, else they’ll never get addressed,” Pierre says, but allows Konstantin to drink a little more before putting on his expectant mask.

            Konstantin thinks for a minute. He knows that Villanelle is physically well, her wound mostly healed. But he remembers Amsterdam, how distraught Villanelle had been, how he’d found her in a club’s bathroom choking a young woman and how he’d had to carry her over his shoulder like a sack of sobbing potatoes. He’d stayed with her that night, sleeping on the floor like he would if Irina was ill.

            He admits to Pierre, “I don’t know if Villanelle is compromised.” He then explains more recent events, leaving out most of Amsterdam’s details.

            Pierre crosses his lanky legs, swirls the wine in his glass before taking a hearty sip. “May I make a suggestion?” he asks after a moment.

            “Of course.”

            “Perhaps it might be best to treat it like an experiment. Keep letting her accept jobs in London. Keep letting her see Eve. But if it gets to be too much… make an attempt to cut off contact. Convince her that whatever feelings Eve has for her are otherwise.”

            “Hmm.” Matters involving Eve would have to involve Carolyn, Konstantin thinks, sipping his whiskey. “I might have to call someone.”

            _“Fais ce que tu veux,”_ Pierre says. Do what you want. “Just keep me in the loop.”

            “I will,” Konstantin promises, and holds out his hand.

 

            That evening, he knocks on Villanelle’s door twice. She answers wearing the hotel’s bathrobe.

            “Am I interrupting something?” Konstantin asks.

            “Just my spa evening.”

            “Meditating about Raymond whom you love and miss very much?”

            “Don’t be gross, Konstantin. It’s not like you.”

            “Get dressed,” he tells her. “We’re going to dinner.”

            He takes her to Restaurant Lasserre. Their table is in the middle of the room, surrounded by couples having romantic dinners and people in professional dress having what appear to be dinner meetings.

            “Is there a job for me,” Villanelle says, “or are you just taking me sightseeing to places I’ve been before?”

            “There is,” he says, scanning the wine menu. “Do you have a favorite wine at this restaurant?”

            “Not wine. Champagne.”

            “People will think we’re together if we get that.”

            “Me? Be with someone mediocre-looking like you?” She blows a raspberry. “I’m old enough to be your grown daughter, by the way. Just play with that.”

            Konstantin orders them a bottle of champagne that’s higher in price. Once it’s poured and they’ve placed dinner orders, Konstantin says, “The job this time around is very different than Amsterdam. Not as public, and definitely not as…” He struggles to think of the right word.

            “Meaty?” Villanelle offers.

            “Sure. Meaty.”

            “Less meaty ones aren’t as good.”

            “Then make it good. You have a talent for that. But,” he adds, raising a finger, “there is a condition.”

            “Okay…”

            “It can’t attract Eve Polastri’s attention.”

            The corner of Villanelle’s mouth twitches. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes light up at the mention of Eve’s name. She sits back in her chair, her jaw working as it does when something has irritated her. “And if I want her attention?”

            “I have resources to make sure it’s diverted.”

            Villanelle crosses her arms. “It’s not really a partnership if you have sources.”

            “Sure it is. Are successful companies made only of two people? No. They have their core people, and then they have the ones they go to for advice. This is exactly like that.” He smiles at her, in a sort of disbelief at her words. “Did you really think it would be just the two of us, Villanelle?”

            “It would be nice,” she says. “I like spending time with you.”

            “Do you mean that?”

            “I’ll hit you over the head with that bottle to prove it, like you hit me with a log.”

            She still isn’t over that, he thinks. “I was trying to help my family. It was a necessary thing.”

            “You could’ve given me a concussion,” Villanelle says. “Do you know how dizzy I was chasing after you on the wharf?”

            “Yes, else your shots would’ve landed in my shoulder.”

            “I was aiming more for middle back.”

            “You still missed your mark.”

            “And because of that I’m here having dinner with you, my pain in the arse.”

            “Think how good you have it,” Konstantin says. “You could be sitting here with Raymond and making conversation with a man who wears ugly jackets.”

            “Say another word about him and I might throw up.”

            “Then I’ll change the subject. Why do you want Eve Polastri’s attention?”

            But Villanelle doesn’t answer. Their dishes arrive and she digs in with polite vigor, being mindful of Parisian manners. She talks quietly around a bite, “I had sex with her.”

            Konstantin stops chewing. “What?”

            “Eve.” She chases a piece of fish with her fork. “You were eventually going to ask about my feelings, which remain the same, but Eve’s are too.”

            “She told you?” he asks.

            “Yeah. When I had her on my hotel desk.” She spears the bite, pops it into her mouth. “Body language says a little more than words do.”

            Konstantin lowers his eyes to his plate, speechless.

            Oh dear, he thinks, over and over.

 

            Konstantin’s hotel is considerably cheaper than Villanelle’s. Instead of extravagant luxury, it’s comfortable luxury. He can see the lit Eiffel Tower from the balcony, where he’s lounging in one of the comfortable chairs and enjoying a glass of vintage whiskey. His thumb hovers over Carolyn’s contact. He knows that she’s changed from the days when they worked and were close with each other, but he doubts her nightlife habits have morphed into something more tolerable.

            The line rings three times before she picks up.

            “Carolyn,” he says by way of greeting.

            _“Konstantin,”_ she responds. _“I think you’re in Paris.”_

“You know your cities.”

            _“Every city has a sound over the phone to the practiced ear. Is this a booty call?”_

“As enjoyable as it would be to see you, it’s the opposite.”

            _“Well. I had to ask. What is it?”_

Konstantin sighs and hears Carolyn’s soft _“Oh dear.”_ She knows his sighs. He says, “It’s about Eve Polastri. And Villanelle.”

            Rustling sounds at the end of the phone. A file opening, papers being shuffled through. He imagines she’s sitting at her large glass table, reading glasses on her face, a cup of tea steaming nearby. _“You’ve called at the right time. Something rather interesting has come up that might require our best pairs of eyes.”_


End file.
